Chelabbles and Drelsies
by nanniships
Summary: A place to park the Chelsie drabbles from the Chelsie Challenge prompts from tumblr! All ratings possible, but we're gonna go with T to start...
1. Chapter 1

Beginning

Charles Carson reached for the last gift in the pile with a question in the quirk of his eyebrows.

"What's this, Elsie?" he asked when he read the tag.

"It's a wedding present, of course," his wife of three hours replied.

"I'm aware of that," he said with a good natured roll of his eyes. "Why ever did you get me one?"

"Open it and see."

With a last look that eloquently questioned the propriety of receiving a wedding gift from his wife - at least one that was gift wrapped and in with the same pile as the beater-mixer from the kitchen staff - he carefully removed the paper.

Elsie Caron waited patiently, a half smile on her face, as he turned the leather bound book over in his hands.

"It looks like my old Butler's Book," he said, puzzlement mixed with nostalgia.

"It's exactly the same type of journal," she confirmed.

"But why?" he asked, looking at her with confused dark, eyes. "I've no need for a Butler's Book here." He waved his hand around to indicate the small sitting room in which they were taking their last tea of the day.

"Charles Carson, has a day gone by in forty years that you haven't recorded _something _about it?"

"I suppose not," he acknowledged.

"A new beginning calls for a new Butler's Book, Charles." At his expression, she amended: "An Ex-Butler's Book, perhaps."

"What shall I write in it?"

"You might start with our first tea in our new home? or a list of the gifts we've received so that we can write thank you notes…?"

"Or the way your eyes are shining in the firelight? Or how lovely you looked when you joined me at the front of the church? Or how cheeky you were when you winked at me while the good Vicar wasn't looking?"

"If you like," she replied with a laugh.

"Or perhaps…" he set the book down on the settee between them, "the first kiss we shared in our new home?"

Whatever she was going to reply was lost as he gently cupped her cheek and pulled her closer. Their lips met gently for a long, lovely moment.

"Yes," she gasped when they parted. "Write that."

"It'll have to wait until after the second," he replied, pulling her even closer.


	2. Chapter 2

Accusation

Mr. Carson sat up in bed, watching his wife impatiently gather clothing from all four corners of their bedroom, tsking with disapproval as she removed his shorts from the top of the vanity, unable to disguise the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Especially when her dressing gown gapped open.

Mrs. Carson knitted her brow as she gathered up the last of their hastily discarded items and continued to look around the room in puzzlement. Her eyes fell on his amused expression and they narrowed at him. She crossed her arms.

"Where is it?" she demanded, rolling her Rs in that wonderful way that indicated someone was in for it. His spine tingled.

"And good morning to you as well," he rumbled. "Where is what?"

"You know quite well what I'm referring to, because you've done something with it!"

"I've watched you search every corner of this room, Elsie, and I'm still none the wiser about what you're looking for," he protested.

"I know you watched me," she replied, rolling her lovely eyes, "and I know you've got what I'm looking for." She held out her hand with a give-it-here motion of her fingers. "Hand it over. I can't stay in this room all day today, and you know it."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Elsie. I'm delighted that I've got what you're looking for."

"Charles! If you do not give me my—" she lowered her voice to a hiss, as if they could be overheard in their own home, "—_brassiere…_I shall have to come and take it from you."

"If you wish to accuse me of purloining your undergarments, Mrs. Carson, I'm going to have to insist on proof." He smirked as she sputtered like an overfilled kettle and allowed the blankets to fall down his chest and puddle at his hips. "I wish you the best in your investigation."

As his wife stalked over to the bed with a gleam in her eye, he shoved the undergarment in question a little further under his pillow. It was his turn to get what he was looking for.


	3. Chapter 3

Restless

The regular click of Mrs. Hughes' heels on the floors of Downton were as familiar as the winds of winter or the whispers of gossiping maids to them downstairs. Only for one, perhaps, were they as familiar as the beat of his heart.

But on the day after the Christmas party, Mr. Carson's heart was exhibiting an alarming tachycardia, if measured by Mrs. Hughes' steps. They'd barely had a chance to exchange "good mornings," and it seemed that she hadn't sat down for more than a moment all morning. At his figuring, at least three of the last trips up the back stairs were unnecessary.

Not that he was going to _tell_ her that.

He stood near the bottom of the stairs, ostensibly to keep an eye on the comings and goings of Mr. Molesley as he carried tray after tray of silver utensils, but actually so that he'd be a good position to observe Mrs. Hughes' to and froings.

As she disappeared into her office, he removed his watch from his waistcoat and observed it.

"Mr. Carson? Is everything alright?" Mrs. Patmore's voice reminded him that he wasn't the only one with eyes in his head.

"Wait for it…" he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

She looked curiously at him, then down the corridor at Mrs. Hughes' door. After a few moments, they were both rewarded by said door bursting open and a whirlwind of Scottish housekeeper emerging to collar Miss Baxter for a question that had been asked and answered a good two hours before.

Mrs. Hughes spared Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Carson a curious look as she bustled away to attend to God knows what, but didn't slow down to ask what in heaven's name they thought they were about, standing at the foot of the stairs in the middle of the morning gawking at her.

"I believe a tea tray might be in order Mrs. Patmore, if you'd be so kind," he said calmly.

Mrs. Patmore just shook her head and moved back into the kitchen to prepare it.

As soon as Mrs. Hughes' door had shut again, Mr. Carson rapped at it. Proceeding in without waiting for a response, he found her standing and glaring at a schedule, ready to burst out of her office yet again.

"Oh…Mr. Carson," she startled, giving him a weak smile. "I was just going to…" she waved the schedule as if it was self explanatory.

Mr. Carson set down the tea tray and settled his bulk into a chair. "I'll wait."

"Really, that won't be necessary. I don't think I have time for tea just now."

Mr. Carson poured a cup and began preparing it the way she took it.

"I'm sorry we haven't had the chance to speak, Mr. Carson," she said, edging for the door as if that might make him follow like a balloon on a string.

Mr. Carson arranged a few shortbread biscuits on the saucer next to the tea cup.

"I've been at sixes and sevens all morning. I'm not sure where all this is coming from," she said with a nervous laugh. "Everything seems a bit topsy-turvy."

"Everything _is_ different this morning, Mrs. Hughes," he said with a knowing smile. "Now…I think it's time you took a moment for yourself."

"The world doesn't stop on account of a proposal, Charles," she replied somewhat sharply. When he smiled broadly, and she realized what she'd just said, her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"Perhaps it doesn't, Elsie," he agreed. "But it can at least slow down long enough for you to take fifteen minutes with your finance?"

He stood to pull out her chair for her. She sat down abruptly and laughed.

"I'm exhausted," she admitted.

"You should be. It made me tired just watching you," he replied, handing her the cup.

"Have you been watching me all morning, Charles?"

"Every chance I get."

Tea took about an hour and half. The house did not fall down. Eventually, Mr. Carson's heart resumed a normal rhythm with only occasional leaps.

All was well.


	4. Chapter 4

Snowflakes

He wasn't imagining it. There was definitely something furtive about Elsie Hughes this morning.

Charles Carson watched her as she sidled further away from the group of servants heading back to Downton after church services. The younger ones were chatting excitedly, almost inappropriately _loudly _for a Sunday morning, about the fresh snow that was falling around them. A few rumbles here and a raised eyebrow there, and the volume was adjusted to more acceptable level.

But Mrs. Hughes should have been the one to reprimand the girls. And she obviously wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. In fact, she had put enough distance between herself and the group that he would have to hang back himself. Well, he would if he intended to continue to keep an eye on her.

While it wasn't _officially_ his task to keep an eye on the housekeeper, he never found doing so to be an onerous task. So he watched her wander away from the oblivious, chattering servants and slip into the trees that lined the lane. With visions of bruises, broken ankles, frostbite, and a housekeeper laid up for weeks rolling through his head, Mr. Carson followed quietly.

She was standing next to a tree, quietly humming and watching the snow fall on the bare branches with obvious delight. Then, much to his shock and surprise, she closed her eyes, tipped back her head and stuck out her tongue.

Mrs. Hughes was trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue. And he was standing like a butler shaped statue in the snow watching her do it. There was absolutely nothing proper about any of this.

Especially the way he was starting to feel as he watched her pink tongue lick her lips and thrust back out for another snowflake. Or the way her little giggle filled his ears and made him shiver from head to foot more than the chilly wind could be responsible for. Or the way her eyes opened wide with surprise and embarrassment as she spun around with her arms outstretched and saw him standing there with his mouth hanging open.

No…none of this was proper. And she knew it.

He watched, fascinated, as a red flush moved down her neck and she averted her eyes from his. Snowflakes had settled on her eyelashes, and he couldn't take his eyes away from the way they trembled when she blinked.

"Mr. Carson!" she managed to gasp. "I was… I didn't know you were…" As it began to dawn on her that he had followed her, she began to be less embarrassed and more irritated. "And just what _were_ you about, following me like this?" she demanded.

Mr. Carson suddenly felt like he'd been caught peeping through a window. He shifted from foot to foot and made rumbling noises about "…concern…dangerous…cold…possibly fall…"

Mrs. Hughes was not mollified. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, and glad for all the layers that encased him, he began to bluster about a bit about "…appearances…propriety…snowflakes, I ask you…"

With a mightily expressive eye roll, Mrs. Hughes brushed past him to resume her walk back to the Abbey. She stopped suddenly and turned to him.

"Mr. Carson, have you ever in your life caught snowflakes on your tongue?"

"Me? Of course not. Well, perhaps when I was a lad, but I don't remember."

"Well," she said with a tip of her head, "I hope you paid attention while you were watching me, so you'll know how it's done. In the event that you should ever find yourself wanting to catch a snowflake on your tongue."

He opened his mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms that he could never conceive of a time when Charles Carson, the Butler of Downton Abbey, would want to catch snowflakes on his tongue. But something in her face challenged him…dared him, almost. There was a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth, and her eyes sparkled dangerously.

Instead of setting her straight, or informing her that they would be late to luncheon, or even just giving her a disapproving grunt, he hear himself saying:

"Why don't you show me again…just to be certain."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- A bit naughty here; slightly stronger "T"**

Haze

Elsie Hughes leaned out of their bedroom window, desperate to catch a breeze. The city was all but invisible behind a curtain of shimmering, wavering heat haze. And there was no breeze to be caught.

"Are you so very determined to provide those randy Yuppies down the street with a free show?" Charles Carson scowled from his position, sprawled across their large bed. Even as he was enjoying the sight of her bent over and leaning out of the window, he was bothered by the thought that anyone _else _might be privy to such a view.

"They're all at work, making and losing fortunes," she said dismissively. "And I'm sure they've younger and prettier things to look at than the likes of me." Giving up, he pulled her head in from the window and turned to smile at him, spread-eagled across the bed, sweat beading his brow.

"I'm sure they don't," he protested. "And would you please pull the shears at least?"

Rolling her eyes, she did as he'd asked, wondering just who he thought would be home in the middle of the day to spy on them. As she twitched them shut, she took one last look, squinting through through the haze, at a city that had practically come to a gasping halt.

Charles watched avidly as she pulled the slip away from her breasts and fanned herself. One of the many benefits of being retired, he mused, was being able to spend the day in their bedroom with the woman he loved without worrying overmuch about wardrobe choices.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he suggested with a smirk. "Perhaps you'd be cooler if you took them off."

"Things didn't get any cooler when I took them off two hours ago, Charles."

"No," he acknowledged, "but the heat didn't seem to bother you as much."

"I'm not sure where you get the energy, Charles Carson," she teased as she slowly drew the slip off over her head, revealing nothing underneath it. "The whole city has come to a standstill and you're still up for anything."

"I'll show you up for anything," he growled, sitting up suddenly and pulling her into the bed. She shrieked with surprise, and then laughed as their sweat soaked bodies slipped and slid against each other, frustrating Charles' attempts to pin her underneath him.

The shear curtain suddenly rippled and Elsie felt a light tickling on her legs. She pushed Charles away and sat up.

"Did you feel that, Charles?" she asked excitedly.

"I'm _trying_ to feel it, Elsie," he muttered in frustration. "And it would be a fair sight easier to do so if you'd get back here!"

"It was a breeze!" She bounded out of bed, ignoring his long groan, and ran back to the window. The curtains rippled again.

Charles propped himself up on the pillows and decided to just enjoy the magnificent view. Elsie drew aside the curtains and looked back to smile brightly at him.

"I hope it keeps up," she murmured.

Charles wasn't sure if it was the haze from the heat and pollution that made his eyes swim, or the fact that he could suddenly see a future with Elsie Hughes with such clarity and joy that he was tearing up. His thoughts went to the small box tucked away in the desk in his office.

"Come here, Elsie," he called, stretching his hand out to her. "You can feel the breeze from over here just as well."

With a smile and shining eyes, she came back to their bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Flame

His hand was firmly on her back, guiding her down the stairs as the frightened, confused voices of the staff rose around them. Of course, she kept trying to turn about, to make sure all of her charges were following instructions and getting out to safety.

"Mr. Carson, I need to make sure the girls on the far end of the hall knew to go down these stairs!" she shouted up at him. "If they get confused, they'll be heading straight into the smoke."

"Everyone is on these stairs, Mrs. Hughes," he assured her. He assumed so, at any rate. Every door had been knocked on, instructions shouted as staff clambered into dressing gowns and coats.

Mrs. Hughes made a very determined effort to turn and go back _up_ the stairs, but found her way blocked by the equally determined butler. She muttered in frustration as the flow of people prevented her from making one last check.

As they arrived at the bottom of the stairs and herded the staff out, Mrs. Hughes was immediately about counting noses and seeing that everyone had something over them to block the cold, night air. Mr. Carson, of course, was seeing to the family, so it came as something of a shock when a blanket was draped over her shoulders and large hands rested on them for a moment longer than necessary.

"Are you well, Mrs. Hughes?" his voice rumbled in her ear.

She nodded. "I'm fine, Mr. Carson. Thank the good Lord, we're all fine. Even Lady Edith is recovering quickly."

She turned to see his eyes fixed on the fire crew running back and forth. Flames could still be seen through the window of Lady Edith's bedroom, but everything was coming under control. He swallowed hard, and she could see how much he wanted to be saving this house with his own hands.

"It could have been much worse, Mr. Carson," she said gently. "No one was seriously hurt, and I'm sure the damage is reparable."

He looked at her, remembering how his heart had raced painfully when she attempted to return to the top floor and how his hand could feel the warmth of her back through her dressing gown. As she shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, he found his arms twitching with the strain of not gathering her to him.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," he agreed in a soft voice, "it could have been much worse indeed."

As she looked into his eyes, she could see the reflection of the flames dancing in them.

And she wondered.


	7. Chapter 7

Formal

He grumbled a bit, of course. All men do. But secretly, Charles Carson was not exactly displeased when expected to don formal attire to attend a function with his wife. And he wasn't exactly complaining about her formal wear either.

His eyes swept over the expanse of her back that was strategically not covered by her deep burgundy gown. All the way down to…. His fingers jerked, and the tie he had been trying to tie for the last five minutes came apart again.

His muttered expletive caught her attention and she turned from gathering her pumps to see him making another attempt at his tie. Admiring the stretch of the fine fabric over his shoulders, she came over to him and gently knocked his fingers away.

"Honestly, Charles. You don't usually have this much trouble with your tie." Her nimble fingers began the dance of tucking and folding the starched fabric.

"You don't usually wear that dress," he rumbled at the top of her head.

Was it his imagination, or was she pressed a little closer than necessary to make the final adjustments to his neckwear.? Her face tipped up to smile at him as she ran her fingers along his clean shaven jaw.

Ah. Not his imagination. He stood tall as she checked his waistcoat, and smoothed the front of his tuxedo jacket. If he tilted his head just so, there was a fairly clear sight line down where the front of her dress crossed over her chest, leaving large swaths of creamy skin exposed to his gaze.

And to anyone else who might be bold enough to look. He shifted from foot to foot.

Her smile grew as she read his mind. As she sat at her vanity to put her pumps on, she made sure she leaned forward perhaps a bit more than necessary. Charles cleared his throat and tugged at the bottom of his jacket.

"One last check," she said brightly, standing up and striking a pose. "How do I look?"

"Incomparably lovely," he replied, wondering just where the zip was and how she had managed to hook it in the back without his help.

"Do the shoes go properly," she asked with a smile, knowing he hadn't paid them the slightest bit of attention."

Do the shoes go properly where? Thrown against the wall? Pushed against his calves? Wrapped around his hips and digging unmercifully into his flanks?

"Charles?"

"What?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Let me have a look at you."

He stood still, very much enjoying her eyes sweeping over him. She plucked a piece of lint off of his shoulder and sighed.

"It's hardly fair. I spend hours getting ready to look slightly better than I usually do, while you throw on a tux in fifteen minutes and turn into James bloody Bond."

Unable to keep his arms by his side a moment longer, he put his hands on the small of her back, just above where her dress began, and pulled her tightly against him. "Shall I show you how much I appreciate all your efforts?"

"I absolutely demand that you do, once we've gotten back," she replied as she shifted against him.

A moan escaped his lips and his hands wandered further down.

"How much were the tickets to this blasted affair," he growled in her ear.

"They were comped," she replied before taking a deep breath of his aftershave and nipping her way down his neck to his tight collar. "We're not out a penny—"

"Then we're not going." He picked her up and deposited her, laughing, on the bed.

"Oh aren't we?"

"I'm not planning on anyone else seeing you in that dress tonight, Mrs. Carson."

"Or out of it, Mr. Carson?"

"That's Bond…James Bond."


	8. Chapter 8

Companion

"…I know _you_ won't abandon me, Mrs. Hughes."

He couldn't have explained it then - that utter certainty that Mrs. Hughes would continue to pull in harness with him through his blustering moods and dogged insistence on denying change. He could not have known that she would remain at his side, keeping the ship of Downton Abbey afloat and sailing full speed ahead during some the roughest seas, and yet he was confident enough to take her completely for granted.

It had taken a fair few years, but that knowledge had made him kinder, as she had suggested at the time. It had given him confidence to step into the surf at her side, to suggest that they enter into a business arrangement, which was never meant to be any such thing.

And now his careless words echoed in his head, even as he winced at the clumsiness of his stated intentions. _"I do want to be stuck with you." _Where was the style in that? She deserved better than an old grouch who had taken her for granted as long as they'd known each other and even now, when finally fortified enough in years and courage to let her know he was finished taking her for granted, was unable to say it properly.

But he knew she wouldn't abandon him. And so he asked her to marry him anyway. And waited on tenterhooks for her answer, even as he assured her that he wouldn't press her.

She'd thought he'd never ask. But she hadn't abandoned him in spite of that.

Ha hadn't known when he'd so blithely declared that she would never abandon him that the companion he took for granted would become the companion he could not imagine living without. He wasn't marrying anyone else.

He hadn't known…but he must've.

Never had he been so glad to have been proved right.


	9. Chapter 9

Move

The space inside the entry as decidedly not big enough for the both of them to stand while holding parcels.

"If you'll move, Charles, I'll get these things to the kitchen."

Obligingly, he shifted to one side, pressing himself against the wall.

The kitchen wasn't small, but it wasn't large either. And as he didn't know where everything was supposed to go, he tended to stand in the middle of the floor, brow wrinkled as he tried to determine where to place the new linens. Or the bag of flour. Or the apples.

She wanted the apples on the counter next to the big mixing bowl, he remembered. Before he put them there, he took a moment to appreciate the possibility of an apple tart later. Then he felt the dig into his ribs.

"Move, Charles, before you grow roots and send out branches."

Obligingly, he shifted out the way and took the apples to the counter.

Banished from the kitchen, he made his way to the settee and sat in the middle, leaning over to retrieve the book he had been reading. Checking to make certain she was occupied in the kitchen, he swung his feet up onto the settee and leaned back against the arm, propping the book up on his chest. Her voice muttering things under her breath in the kitchen was soothing. The book was not terribly engaging. His snores were barely audible. The tap on his ankles wrenched him out his nap.

"Move over, Charles. You're taking up your half out of the middle, my man."

Obligingly, he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. She immediately sat down and slipped under his arm to curl up into his side. The tart smelled delicious.

It was delicious. And the evening was spent quietly reading and chatting until a large yawn split her face. She got up, declaring it to be time for bed. He smiled and bent down to bank the fire in the sitting room. then he frowned at the woodbox and wondered if, perhaps, he shouldn't fill it before morning. Her small hand slipped into his and began tugging him towards the stairs with surprising strength.

"Move, Charles. I haven't got all night to be waiting for you to come to a decision about the woodbox."

"But that's just it," he said with a smile. "We've got the rest of our lives."

She just gave him a look and started up the stairs, throwing a glance over her shoulder at him that made him feel quite warm enough without any extra firewood needed.

Charles Carson moved as quickly as he could.

**A/N: I've been HORRIBLY remiss in responding to reviews. I'll try to do better, and PLEASE know how much I love each and every one of them.**


	10. Chapter 10

Silver

_The devil is in the details…. Leave nothing to chance… Good results come from proper planning…._

The nagging voice in her head hadn't silenced itself in the last three weeks before her wedding, and right now, as she prepared to meet her soon-to-be husband at the church, it _still_ wouldn't cease its yammering.

_Have I got everything? Is my hair still tidy? Did I show Miss Baxter which key opens the upstairs linen cupboard? Did I remember to tell Mrs. Patmore about the change in numbers for dinner tomorrow? Did that last box get taken to the cottage?_

_ "_Are you ready, Mrs. Hughes?"

Anna's smile was momentarily calming. Elsie Hughes, soon-

to-be Carson in less than twenty minutes, took a deep breath and tried not to wonder what she was forgetting.

"I believe so…"

"It's a bit late to be having second thoughts, innnit?" asked Mrs. Patmore with a cheeky wink.

"I am not having second thoughts," she replied with a glare. "I'm just making sure everything is in order."

"Everything is taken care of, Mr. Hughes," Anna assured her.

"I can't help but wonder if I've forgotten something," she said with a little frown.

"As long as you don't forget to show up at the church, what difference will it make?" Mrs. Patmore chimed in, earning her another glare from Elsie.

"Mrs. Patmore is right, you know," Anna said quietly when the cook disappeared into the kitchen to see how the cake was coming on. "Mr. Carson won't have an eye for any of the details. As soon as he sees you, he'll not be thinking of anything else."

Elsie smiled at that. Now if only she could stop running up and down that mental checklist…

A horrible clattering noise from the corridor startled them all and Mrs. Patmore's voice could be heard in full cry.

"If you hadn't been charging through here like Elijah's chariot, you'd have never dropped that silver!"

Ordinarily, Elsie would have intervened immediately, wedding day or no wedding day. Anna prepared to head her off, but was surprised as Elsie stood stock still, a look of panic on her face.

"Mrs. Hughes? What is it?"

"Silver! I forgot the silver!"

"What silver?"

"A sixpence for my shoe," Elsie replied. "I was very nearly married without the sixpence in my shoe for luck."

"Shall I get it for you?"

"I don't have it," she said.

_Charles was simply being silly, holding the sixpence out of her reach to tease her - not difficult to do, as tall as he is. Saying that the silver had always been, and would always be, his responsibility to shine, he'd slipped it into his pocket and dared her with his eyes to try to get it. And she might have done, if they hadn't ben interrupted by a question about the china service. Then she needed to tend to a matter with her dress. And she'd told him she'd be back to get it, but they didn't get another chance as she was seeing to all the details…_

"You don't have it?" Anna asked."Then where…?"

"Mr Carson has it," she said, resigned to missing this little detail. Anna looked even more perplexed, but said nothing. "Never mind," Elsie said, trying to smile. "I don't think I'll need to depend on luck from here on out."

Elsie paced restlessly until they left for the church. As they approached the doors, she smiled at John Bates, standing in his best suit, waiting for his wife. He took Anna's arm to escort her in, then stopped and turned back to Mrs. Hughes.

"I nearly forgot," he said with a laugh. "Mr. Carson would never forgive me." He took a shining shining, silver sixpence out of his pocket and handed it to Mrs. Hughes. "He wanted to make quite sure that you had that."

Mrs. Hughes beamed as Anna knelt and helped her slip it into her shoe.

"_Now_ you're ready," Anna said happily. "No more details to worry about, Mrs. Hughes."

"Between the two of us, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about missing a detail ever again," she replied. The doors opened and she walked to the tall man at the altar, who gave his coat one last straightening tug before all the details of the day completely fled his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Prepared

They could not have been more prepared. They are detail people; everything has a place and everything will be in its place, or the butler and housekeeper will know the reason why. This was the code by which they lived and worked for over 20 years.

And it suited them just fine. They completed their jobs, trained their replacements, furnished their new home, planned and executed a wedding, and attended a gracious reception that had meticulously planned and executed by those whom they had worked with and served.

But then the door shut behind them, and the only sound in the silence of their home -_their_ home- were the anxious, audible breaths they both released. They were completely on their own, together, for the first time ever expecting no interruptions, no demands on their time, no obligations to the lives of others…

And they were not prepared for that. Their clasped hands tightened on each other. When they turned to look at each other, they each saw their own anxiousness staring back at them.

Elsie Carson (Carson for all of three hours) opened her mouth to suggest tea, but then closed it. She didn't really want any tea.

Charles Carson opened his mouth to recommend that they have a seat on the setee and relax while he made a fire, but then closed it. There was a fire already lit, and he didn't think he could relax.

Elsie mused that they must look like right fools, standing just inside the door to their cottage like small children, afraid to go into the dark corridor at night for fear of what might be waiting in the shadows. Charles wondered why they were still wearing their coats when every well trained instinct should have dictated that he remove hers at least.

Both just wished the other would bloody well _say_ something.

But neither was prepared to have everything they'd wanted, longed for, dreamed about, and, yes, prepared for, actually happen.

This struck them both as funny, and they laughed. Charles thought her laugh had always been and always would be the most beautiful sound in the world and decided to make her laugh like that every day of their lives together. Elsie felt the deep rumble of his chuckle enfold her and caused her belly to flutter and her heart to beat with the same cadence, and she hoped she could make him laugh like that at least three times a day.

Without a word, they entered all the way into their sitting room. Charles put his arms around her and Elsie laid her hands on his chest. They kissed for a very long time.

Neither was prepared for _that_, but it didn't really matter anymore. Everything had a place and everything was in its place.


	12. Chapter 12

Knowledge

"Why is that so funny, Charles?" she asked indignantly. "There really is a great deal I don't know about you."

Charles Carson tried to contain his laughter. "My dear, there is nothing of importance about me that you do not already know."

Elsie Hughes looked at her fiancee with irritation. "What of the unimportant things Charles? All those things that couples grow to learn about each other in a more intimate setting than work." Charles' eyes widened at this and his laughter turned into coughing. She delivered some hearty smacks to his shoulder blades. "I don't know any of those things, and I'm looking forward to learning about them."

"Like what?" he sputtered, not really sure if he wanted to know.

"Well…I don't know what your toes look like," she said, crossing her arms and expecting him to burst our in laughter again.

"My…toes?"

"I've been mending your socks for over a decade, Charles, so I know how quickly you wear holes in them, but I've never seen your toes, and I've always wondered."

"Have you?"

"Yes. And it may seem unimportant, but I don't know if you wash your hair first or last when you take a bath."

"Wash my…? But what has that got to do with anything?"

"This may well determine who bathes first, Charles," she said shaking her finger at him.

"It may…what? How should that—?"

"And I don't know which side of the bed you prefer to sleep on. You can't tell me this will have no bearing on our lives together."

"I've slept in a single bed not quite long enough for me for the last thirty years, Elsie! I've no idea what side of the bed I prefer to sleep on, but I'll assume that it will be whichever one you are not occupying at any given time."

"There…see?" she said with a smile. "That's important information, and now I know."

"Well…anything else?" he asked bemusedly.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Blue, of course, like your eyes," he answered immediately.

"I'm sure there will be no limit to the knowledge I'll gain about you once we're married Charles," she said with a teasing lilt. With a grin, he bent over in his chair. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking off my shoes."

"Here?"

"It would hardly be fair to expect you to enter into marriage with me without having some sort of fore knowledge about my toes," he replied, grunting as he strained to undo his laces.

"For goodness sake, Charles!"

Charles looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow. "You've thoroughly convinced me of the importance of knowledge I have considered unimportant before now."

"Have I?" she said, taking in the twinkle in his eye. "And I suppose there might be a few gaps in your knowledge of me you'd like to fill in?"

"A few perhaps. But they can wait for a more… appropriate time and place, Elsie…"

**A/N: I'm waaaay behind on responding to reviews, and you've all been so wonderful about reviewing. Just to let you know, I feel tremendously guilty and will try to do better. I do read them all and appreciate them all very much.**


	13. Chapter 13

Denial

The gimlet eye that could spot an under-turned pastry from across the kitchen watched from the doorway.

"I'd like to hear her deny it _now_," she thought as Mr. Carson made his solid way through the crowded corridor.

Not even waiting for Mrs. Hughes' sitting room door to close all the way, she had pushed it open and bulled her way inside.

"I'd ask you what's the meaning of this," Mrs. Hughes said with a glare, "but I'm quite sure you intend on telling me."

Mrs. Patmore shut the door firmly behind her and faced her friend with a satisfied grin.

"Actually, I'd like to know the meaning of all _that,_" she replied smartly.

Mr. Hughes rolled her eyes and hid a smile. If Mrs. Patmore was referring to what she suspected, she'd just won a small wager with Mr. Carson.

"Of all _what_, Mrs. Patmore?

"That little scene in the corridor, _that's_ what," Mrs. Patmore crowed.

"If by little scene, you mean Mr. Carson telling me of a last minute addition to this weekend's numbers…"

"Don't try to play me for a broody hen. I've got eyes and they work better than you think they do."

"Have you lost your spectacles, Mrs. Patmore?" she asked patronizingly. Mrs. Patmore sputtered and began to puff up. "And if you're referring to my fixing Mr. Carson's tie, then I don't know what's got you in a tizzy. That's a familiar enough sight."

"I'm referring to the fact that you're wearing the same evening dress this morning that you had on last night, when the last I saw of you, you were disappearing into your sitting room with Himself and shutting the door."

"Mrs. Patmore, I don't know what you're insinuating…"

"I'm pretty sure all the incinerating was going on behind the closed door," Mrs. Patmore said with a cackle.

"Really, Mrs. Patmore!" Mrs. Hughes said sharply. "Think about what you're implying."

"Ah…but are you denying it?"

Mrs. Hughes pulled a deep sigh. "I can see that denial will do no good. Very well. Mr. Carson and I were up very late last night, and I didn't get a chance to go up to my room and change before this morning. I was going to slip up before breakfast, if you hadn't cornered me in my own office."

"You'd do better to be more careful, Mrs. Hughes. The wedding is only a few weeks away," Mrs. Patmroe scolded with a delighted smile. "People will talk, for sure."

"Only if you tell them what to talk about, Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Hughes replied, fixing a stern eye on the cook.

"Oh, they won't be hearing it from me…."

Mr. Carson was humming as he made his way back down the corridor and asked Mrs. Patmore if breakfast was ready.

"Five more minutes, Mr. Carson. I know you've got to keep your strength up."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows arched as he considered whether or not to address Mrs. Patmore's cheek. With a sharp look, he walked with dignity to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room and stuck his head in the door.

"Well?" he asked anxiously.

"Just as I said," Mrs. Hughes answered triumphantly. "She's absolutely convinced we're up to something scandalous in here."

Mr. Carson frowned in disappointment. "Really? She doesn't give us much credit for keeping our scandalous activities discreet."

"Nor does she know the half of it," Mrs. Hughes said with a chuckle. "But she's completely distracted and doesn't suspect a thing." She pulled Mr. Carson further into her sitting room by his tie and shut the door.

"So her party will be a complete surprise. I'm anxious to see her face," he mused with a smile.

"I'd just like to remind you,Mr. Carson, that I won our bet," she said as she pulled him closer.

"Have we a few minutes for something slightly scandalous?" he asked.

"Oh, I think so. Besides, It'll give me something else to not deny."


	14. Chapter 14

Wind

March had come in like a lion and was still roaring. Eastertide was cold and rainy, the early daffodils slumped dispiritedly in the garden, and the wind rattled the window casements.

Charles Carson was standing at his front door, riveted to the window. His eyes swept down the path to the lane and snapped as if he could make her bundled figure appear around it by sheer will.

"Did she even have an umbrella this morning?" he asked himself, his deep voice rippling through the empty entryway. Eyeing the tall canister in the corner by the door that held umbrellas and the odd walking stick, he determined that, indeed, she did not.

Unable to watch the wind whip the raindrops around any longer, he growled irritably about catching his death, threw on his overcoat and stomped out into the storm. Raising a futile umbrella over his head, he set off as quickly as he could against the wind towards the village.

"Ridiculous woman," he growled, "Didn't want to waste a half day…"

The note she had left him was crumpled in his pocket. _Market…stamps…shoe polish…back before breakfast….surprise for you…Love, Elsie._

He kept his head down against the wind and failed to see the familiar bundled, drenched figure until she plowed into him.

"Charles! What in the world are you doing out here in this?" she gasped.

"What am I…? I was trying to find you before you drown, woman!"

"I've not been out that long," she said, turning him back around so they were both heading for the cottage. He tried his best to cover her with the umbrella, but the wind whipped it inside out, then yanked it from his hand and sent it flying into the trees. He watched it glumly.

"I blame you for that," he told her as they rushed through the downpour.

"You're the one who didn't have sense enough to stay in the dry, Charles Carson," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "It wasn't raining when I left this morning."

A loud crack of thunder and a stout gust of wind prevented him from replying. Together, they rushed into the entryway and were dripping on the mat.

"Get out of that coat," she ordered, reaching out to undo his buttons.

"Get out of your own coat," he grumped, shifting around to try to reach her buttons.

They slow waltzed around the entryway for a moment, each determined to help the other out of their wet things. Elsie suddenly stopped and began to laugh.

"We're a pair, and no mistake," she said between giggles. Charles took advantage of her good humor to finish unbuttoning her coat and carefully eased the tight, wet fabric off of her shoulders. Her blouse and skirt were soaked, in spite of her coat.

"You need to get into some dry clothes, Elsie," he grumbled in concern.

I'll be fine, Charles," she said, the color high on her cheeks as she smiled. "This is a lovely, mild spring day back in Argyle. She finished removing his overcoat and turned to hang it up, causing her damp clothes to cling to her quite fetchingly.

"I insist," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder and spinning her around to face him.

She smiled broadly and stepped forward into his arms.

"Well, if you insist. Although…I've brought a lovely spice cake back from the village as a treat for breakfast, if the wind didn't blow it away. We might want to have a bite first."

"Spice cake, you say?"

"Yes indeed," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Why don't you go ahead and have some while it's warm while I go and…get out of these wet clothes."

He watched her with wide eyes as she walked slowly towards their bedroom. When she turned at the door to smile at him, he came to a sudden realization that spice cake is just as good cold.

Besides, his things were a bit wet too.


	15. Chapter 15

Order

The moment the words left his mouth, he wished with all his might and main he could take them right back. His only excuse was that he was tired and was at the end of a very frustrating day of nothing going right and the staff seemingly ignoring his every word.

A deadly silence fell over the staff who happened to be in the servant's hall at the time. No one seemed to meet anyone else's eyes. The floor or the wall was suddenly fascinating. Except for one pair of eyes that drilled into the side of his head. Beautiful, blue eyes that usually looked at him with love and tenderness suddenly turned into snapping sapphires, sharp enough to cut through the wall he so desperately wished he could hide behind at that moment.

Yet the words had been said, their echo still rolling around the room, so all he could do was clear his throat and slowly leave the room, clinging to his dignity and responsibility.

No sooner was he clear of the doorway, then his feet began to hurry of their own accord. He bustled unseeingly past the curious kitchen staff and took a sharp turn into his pantry. At the sharp close of the door, he let his professional mask fall and the expression of horror spread across his features.

Had those words really come out of his mouth, snappish and demanding? In all their years of professional interaction, working together, and only very occasionally in contention - always professionally managed, mind you - he had never had recourse to that. He rarely even spoke in such a way to younger staff, had never had too very often.

He eyed the door warily, expecting a knock, or even for it to fly off the hinges. But there was nothing. Standing in the middle of his pantry, every nerve on edge, he replayed those words over and over again…

"That's an _ORDER_, Mrs. Carson!"

He could hear the bustle of servants going about their business, the clank of pans in the kitchen. Voices raised in laughter and conversation. Clearly, the world had kept turning and everyone had moved on. But he couldn't hear _her_ voice. And the sound of her briskly tapping heels was absent from the corridor.

He was in a tiny, petulant hell of his own devising, and the person he had always replied upon to save him in the past would be perfectly within her rights to clip him around the ear.

If only she would hurry up and do it - get it over with.

His heart skipped a beat at the soft knock on the door, and he replied with an incoherent rumble. When Mrs. Patmore stuck her head in and come through with a tea tray, he didn't know if he should be relieved or not.

"Mrs. Carson asked me to tell you that she's busy at the moment, seeing to that problem of yours, but that she would like a word with you a bit later, when you've got a moment," she recited as she placed the tea tray down on his desk. "Oh yes…she said for to tell you that was a suggestion, not an order."

Mrs. Patmore watched as he sat down heavily at his desk. Thinking about it for a moment, she pulled a small bottle out of her apron pocket and placed it down in front of him.

"I think you might need this a bit more than I do." With a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, she went back to work.

Mr. Carson stared glumly at the bottle of cooking brandy.

"There's not enough brandy in the world, Mrs. Patmore," he murmured to himself, dumping a healthy measure into his cup regardless.

The afternoon seemed to stretch forever. And when Mrs. Carson found him later that day, he was slumped over in a fitful, miserable nap. Rolling her eyes, she fetched a blanket from her sitting room and laid it over him, letting him sleep on.

She rather preferred to deal with this back in their rooms anyway. a tiny smile curled the corner of her mouth as she glanced back at him from the door.

Oh yes, she had every intention of dealing with this. And she didn't mind waiting just a bit longer to do so.

"We'll just see about giving orders, Mr. Carson. We'll just see…"


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks

"Well, they didn't sack us. That's something," Elsie Hughes commented with a touch of bitterness.

Charles Carson opened the door for her and tried to control his temper. He had known that telling the Family about their engagement had the potential to be awkward, but he had not expected the response to be so…unenthusiastic. It verged on ungracious.

"Perhaps, our timing could have been better…" he began.

Elsie snapped her head around and opened her mouth to say something sharp. But when she noticed how very miserable and angry he looked, she understood that he was just trying to orient himself to firmer, more familiar ground. He looked unsteady, so she took his hand. He squeezed it gratefully.

"I don't see how," she replied gently. "Short of waiting to announce our engagement when we retired. Do you think we should have?"

"Absolutely not," he grumbled. "Although the upshot of announcing our engagement might wind up being retirement."

"And would that be so bad?"

"No… I just didn't think either of us was _quite_ ready to retire…"

"That's not what's bothering you, is it Charles?"

He looked at her and heaved a sigh, weary with decades of faithful and uncomplaining service.

"I cannot fault His Lordship for being somewhat…taken aback. A married butler and housekeeper may be the up and coming thing in London, but that particular innovation hasn't reached out here, as of yet. And I understand Her Ladyship's concern that it might upset things—" He held up his hand and smiled when she would have retorted. "—which, of course, it wouldn't, as you wouldn't permit it to."

She smiled back, glad to see that bit of happiness on his face. The distressed and blunt response of the Family had put paid to the hint of a smile that had hovered perpetually around his lips since Christmas. She'd watched as his professional mask sharpened and hardened as the agitated questions and anxious exclamations flew around them.

"It was as if they thought we'd gotten engaged to deliberately inconvenience them," he mused, shaking his head sadly.

"I'm not sure I'd care if it does," she muttered under her breath.

He heard, of course, and lifted his eyebrows as if about to make a pronouncement. She lifted hers right back at him. They called it a draw.

"Well," Elsie said with a sigh, "I suppose we should give thanks that we're not yet packing our bags."

"No," he replied firmly. "They should give thanks that we're not yet packing our bags."

"I agree, Mr. Carson," she said with a brilliant smile. "And if they don't come around, I'm all for some deliberate inconveniencing."

"Might you require some assistance, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

**A/N- Yeah...I'm a little blown away by all the wonderful and faithful reviews for these little bits of Chelsie. Thank you all for that. I may yet eventually catch up and thank you all personally.**


	17. Chapter 17

Look

"How is it possible," mused Anna, "that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes can carry on an entire conversation and not say a word?"

Gwen finished chewing and looked curiously over at the butler and the housekeeper. A glance over the top of a teacup, an eyebrow quirked in question, a cutting of the eyes towards a staff member, finishing with an expressive glance towards the ceiling. Gwen shrugged.

"I reckon they've worked together for so long they don't need to speak about most things," she replied.

"Maybe so," Anna said doubtfully, "but they've worked with Mrs. Patmore just as long, and you can hear _those_ conversations from the Bachelor's Corridor."

They shared a giggle and stood as Mr. Carson abruptly stood. After giving instructions, he flicked his eyes towards Mrs. Hughes sitting room and they left the servant's hall.

"I hope I find someone who I'll know what he's thinking just by the way he looks at me," Anna murmured to herself as they got back to work.

"Have you noticed how Mr. Bates and Anna can talk across the table without saying a word?" Mrs. Hughes asked Mr. Carson. She was three days away from changing her name to Mrs. Carson, and enjoying a quiet moment at the servant's tea to chat with her intended.

"I can't say as I have," Mr. Carson said, "as I'm usually too busy looking at you to be wasting my time staring at anyone else."

"Flatterer," she replied, flushing a little under his smiling scrutiny. She took another look down the table at the Bates' wordless communication.

"I suppose that's what comes of being married for years," she said, looking back at Mr. Carson and smiling into his deep, brown eyes. "Do you suppose we'll be able to do that eventually?"

"I don't know," he answered. "I may be too old of a dog to learn a new trick. But I'm quite happy to try, if it means I get to look at you more often."

Mr. Molesley watched his superiors from across the room and glanced over at Miss Baxter, who met his eyes and rolled her in amusement. He looked between the Bateses and the almost Carsons and thought that Miss Baxter was quite correct and quirked an eyebrow in agreement.


	18. Chapter 18

Summer

"They never, Mrs. Patmore!"

"I've eyes in my head, girl. I know what I saw," Mrs. Patmore replied with a grin that spread across her face. "It's for the best that the wedding is right around the corner, that's all I've got to say.

Daisy doubted very much that was all Mrs. Patmore had to say, but she still had trouble believing that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes could behave improperly. Whatever she thought she saw, she must be mistaken.

"I'm sure it wasn't what you thought, Mrs. Patmore," she replied with certainty.

"Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes at her assistant cook and pulled her towards the door of the kitchen. "Just stand here for a moment and keep an eye out, missy. You'll see what I mean."

Daisy huffed at her in exasperation and looked at the work she had to do for dinner. Still, she was a bit curious. When the door to Mr. Carson's pantry opened, she had them right in her sights.

Mr. Carson looked up and down the corridor, then kissed Mrs. Hughes lightly on the cheek, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. Daisy turned back to Mrs. Patmore in triumph.

"I wouldn't exactly call that a 'heated embrace,' Mrs. Patmore," she said condescendingly. "One swallow doesn't make a summer, you know."

"Oh, you just follow me, Daisy," Mrs. Patmore replied firmly. "These swallows come in flocks."

Despite Daisy's protestations that she had dinner to be getting on with, Mrs. Patmore drug her up to the servery, hissing at her to quit griping and be quiet. Carefully, they opened the door a crack and put their eyes to it. At first, there was nothing to be seen except Mr. Carson, busily checking the crockery. Daisy shook her head, but Mrs. Patmore gave her a pinch and gestured. Mrs. Hughes came in from the dining room entrance.

"It took you long enough," Mr. Carson said with a smile the likes of which Daisy had never seen grace his features.

"Well, I had to avoid Mrs. Patmore and Daisy lurking around in the corridors, waiting for an eyeful, didn't I?"

Mr. Carson chuckled and pulled her into his arms. They proceeded to engage in what could easily be described as a "heated embrace." As Mr. Carson pushed Mrs. Hughes against the china closet, it grew heated enough for Daisy to let out a shocked gasp.

Fortunately for the voyeurs, the couple was too engaged with each other to notice, and Mrs. Patmore dragged Daisy away as quickly as she could. They had even exceeded _her_ expectations, and she found herself a little taken aback.

"There now," she proclaimed triumphantly as they hurried back into the kitchen. "Wouldn't you say that was a fair number of swallows?"

"It were warm enough to be summer, yeah," Daisy agreed, staring glassy-eyed at Mrs. Patmore. They both broke out into hysterical giggles.

Mrs. Hughes, her hair still a trifle askew, found them doubled up in laughter over their teacups fifteen minutes later and wondered what in the world could be so funny.

"A flock of swallows got in, that's all," Mrs. Patmore answered, causing them both to sputter into their cups again.


	19. Chapter 19

Transformation

Charles Carson watched as the guests at the reception ebbed and flowed around his wife, and smiled as he realized he was watching his wife.

"You look very pensive," Elsie Carson said as she sidled up next to him and offered him a glass of champaign.

He took a sip, mentally cataloguing the year and vintner, pleasantly surprised and gratified that Her Ladyship had chosen as well as she did.

"I was just thinking about the curious alchemy that occurred a few hours ago," he replied, smiling with his eyes and lips.

"Curious alchemy? Did we just have a wedding, or was it a scientific experiment?" she asked with a cheeky smile.

He snorted into his glass and hastily wiped his lips where the drink had splashed. She handed him a discrete napkin.

"Yes, a curious alchemy. A mix of certain words, a traditional liturgy, several signatures and a sedate kiss, and we are transformed from Butler and Housekeeper to Man and Wife. Two made one, bound together for all eternity." He watched as her eyes grew tender. "Its right up there with converting lead into gold, if you ask me."

"You make it sound as if the transformation was instantaneous," she said with a note of teasing protest. "I'll have you know I've been preparing this brew for years. the best ingredients cannot be hurried; Mrs. Patmore will back me up on that."

"Will she indeed?" he replied, taking her gently by the arm and leading her slightly away from the rest of the party.

"She will. She's been stirring the pot for long enough." Elsie willingly followed as Charles wandered even farther away from the party until there was a good sized shrub between them and the crowd.

"Perhaps, if we add more of certain ingredients, there will be a further transformation, Mrs. Carson," he suggested as he pulled her into his arms and leaned down close enough to feel the air rush past him as she pulled in a quick breath and parted her lips.

"I'm willing to see what happens, Mr. Carson," she whispered as their lips touched and melted together.


	20. Chapter 20

Tremble

She had been fine until that moment.

Her heart had raced, of course, especially when she began to get an inkling of what he might possibly mean when he blurted that he _did _want to be stuck with her. Her breathing caught when he actually proposed. But she was able to answer him clearly, once she had caught her breath. She was able to steady him with a gentle hand on his arm - so different from other accidental touches or moments of comfort - and so steady herself.

She was confident that they could pass unnoticed back into the carousing crowd in the Great Hall. Their faces might beam a bit brighter, their smiles be a bit broader, their eyes meet each others perhaps more often than usual. But it was Christmas, and all easily explained.

They walked back up the stairs, not touching, but not as far apart as before. When they'd stopped at the top, she'd turn to tell him…something. She didn't know what, she just felt that she should say something before they had to pretend that the most important thing in their lives hadn't just happened. But her words failed when she looked into his shining eyes, and she bit her lip instead and nodded to him, to show him she was ready to return to their public figures.

He smiled, understanding of course. It was hard to think of what to say when you wanted to say everything at once. And it could be hours before they had another opportunity that night; they might even have to wait until tomorrow for another snatched moment between endless tasks.

It was their lot; they both understood that. But, still reeling from the adrenalin of asking her, of knowing the question was welcome, of being accepted, he simply couldn't wait for that spare moment.

As they entered the room from the stairs, he placed his hand boldly on the small of her back and bent his head close to hers. Only for a second - just a momentary breath of the clean smell of her hair, the warmth of her back under his palm, the beat of her pulse beside her ear as he whispered and made the wisps that had come loose from her hair tease the side of her cheek.

_I've never been so happy._

She had been fine until that moment. But as she stood near him, the rumble of his bass filling her ears to the exclusion of any other voices, she had to clasp her hands tightly to stop their tremble, blink swiftly to hold back the sudden tears of joy that sprang to them, and gave thanks for the long dress that hid how wobbly her legs had become.

She glanced at him, wondering for a moment if he remembered that she usually gave as good as got. If the twinkling in his eyes was any indication, he was counting on it.


	21. Chapter 21

Sunset

"Do you think you'll like it? Being retired, Mrs. Carson?"

Mrs. Elsie Carson stopped packing the crate and bit her lip thoughtfully. She looked at the younger woman and sighed.

"I think so, Anna. Oh, I know we'll miss the activity sometimes, being in the thick of things. But there's something to be said for peace and quiet."

"Do you think you and Mr. Carson will find enough to do to keep busy," she asked as she stood on her tiptoes to take a decorative china plate off the shelf and wrap it carefully in paper.

Elsie stood in the middle of her nearly bare sitting room and smiled.

_No matter how many times she'd slapped his hands away and glared at him as she tried to do up her corset, he wouldn't leave off teasing her, tugging the ties loose as soon as she'd fastened them and stroking lightly along whatever bare skin he could reach. And when she'd threatened to get rid of the blasted thing so they wouldn't be late for breakfast, he eagerly pulled it apart, ignoring her half hearted protests, claiming to be helping her. She could feel the tremor of his rumbling chuckle in her own chest as he had pulled her to him, and her hands had crept under the hem of his vest before she knew what they were doing. He'd lifted his eyebrows when she'd said that fair was fair, and if he was going to interfere with her undergarments in the morning, she could give as good as she got. And they were late of course, turning aside the speculative glances of the staff, with sharp looks and furrowed eyebrows until all attention was back on the toast making its way around the table. So no one could see his little jump as she ran her hand slowly up his thigh._

"Mrs. Carson?" Anna asked, turning to look at her curiously when she didn't answer her question right away.

"Hmmm? Oh…yes. I'm sure we'll find something to occupy our sunset years," she said, nodding absently.

A little smile crept over Anna's lips as she turned to reach for another plate.

"Of course you will."


	22. Chapter 22

Mad

"I won't have it!"

"Elsie…"

"I will not have it, Charles Carson. We've said from the beginning we wanted a small affair that wouldn't put the entire downstairs into an uproar."

"Well, _you_ said—"

"And now even the Dowager has the bit between her teeth and everything has gone completely round the twist. Flowers! Why should I need anything more than a bouquet to hold? Food! How many cooks do they think we _have_ in the kitchen, and how happy will they be to have their own dining scheduled interrupted for all of this? A reception with everyone invited! Who's going to be preparing and serving it if everyone is invited to it? I suppose I should be thankful no one's thought to start in on my wedding clothes."

"I'm sure everything can be worked out if you'd just—"

"It's beyond the beyonds, Charles! All this folderol for two people our age—"

"Less of the 'our age,' please."

"The whole thing is as mad as a box of frogs, Charles. And you've left it to me to try to bring some restraint to it, and I'm not sure why…"

"Why I'm going along with it? Why I'm grateful that those whom we've worked for and those we've worked with seem to think this occasion is as important as I do? Why ever in the world I would want to have a wedding celebration worthy of the woman I'm marrying? I can't think of a single reason, can you?

"Charles…"

"Perhaps it will remain a mystery, as I'm sure common sense will prevail. and if a small affair is what you want, then a small affair is what you shall have."

"I only thought—"

"And now that the Dowager has the bit between her teeth, your bouquet will have the most lovely blossoms her gardener can produce. Mrs. Patmore has already begun preparing for wedding breakfast and the family will be helping themselves to a buffet lunch, so as not to interfere with the staff's celebration."

"I…I didn't realize…"

"I intend for us to have something to celebrate and remember for the rest of our lives together, and if that makes me green and hopping about in a crate, then so be it."

"I misunderstood."

"You did."

"You must be mad to want to marry me if I'm going to be throwing a fit like this over something so silly."

"Well, it makes your eyes snap, brings color to your cheeks and makes you toss your head around. It's the best kind of madness, I'd say. And if I'm mad, then you're mad for being willing to marry me in the first place. We're all mad here."

"Then I'm Elsie in Wonderland."


	23. Chapter 23

Thousand

Charles Carson sat back on his heels, grabbed the small of his back, and wondered if he might be too old to take up gardening after-all. He stole a glance towards the cottage and winced when he saw his wife standing in the doorway, watching him.

As he struggled the rest of the way to his feet, he sighed and waited for her teasing voice to tell him that she'd told him so, that gardening isn't as easy as it looks and he should take the word of an Argyll farm girl on that. When he heard nothing, he stole a sidelong glance at her.

She was looking at him with a tender little smile and her eyes weren't sparking in fun and mischief, but were as soft as the clear, spring sky above. She came over to where he was standing and began to gently brush the soil from the front of his shirt.

"You never do anything by halves, Charles Carson," she said quietly, glancing down at the mess of dirt ground into the knees of his trousers.

"No, I suppose I don't," he acknowledged with a smile. "Especially something I don't know the first thing about."

"You've proven to be a fast learner," she replied, brushing his wind swept curl back off his forehead.

His eyebrows flew up as he wondered, perhaps, if she was referring to things other than his attempts to garden. There might have been a slight flush on her cheeks, but it was a warm day.

"Now get inside with you and get cleaned up," she ordered, backing away with a bright smile as he attempted to bring his arms up and around her. "I never thought I'd see Mr. Charles Carson, Butler, digging in the dirt in a thousand years. And enjoying it too."

"Maybe not enjoying it so much," he said with a groan, gripping his back as he began to move towards the door.

Elsie rolled her eyes good naturedly. "I'll run you a bath. A good soak will put you right in no time."

"I know what else might put me right," he muttered.

"Bath first," she said matter of factly. "I've enough laundry to be doing without filling the sheets with good, Yorkshire clay.

Charles's eyebrows flew up and he stared at her before roaring with laughter.

"And I never thought I'd hear something like that from you in a thousand years, Elsie Carson."

"We don't have a thousand years, Charles. So be quick about that bath."

"You never do anything by halves either."

"Especially something I don't know the first thing about?"

"You've proven to be a fast leaner," he said as he stole a kiss before making his way into the kitchen and obediently beginning to remove his soiled clothes.


	24. Chapter 24

Outside

Charles Carson winced as Elsie Hughes slung the curtains to one side and threw open the window in his study. She cheerfully ignored the stern look he threw her over his reading glasses, breathing deeply as the warm breeze floated through the window. He slammed his hand down on the stack of papers sitting neatly on the corner of his desk as the wind made them flutter and threaten to scatter through the room.

"It's Spring, Charles!" he informed him gleefully. "No more excuses about the dreadful damp and chill. It's time for some fresh air."

"We live in London, Elsie," he replied dryly. "_Fresh_ air is not on offer."

"Its fresher than the air that's been circulating in this study for the past four months, Charles. If I can't get you outside, then I'll bring the outside in here best I can."

"Elsie," he said, trying to maintain a patient tone and failing for the most part, "I'm trying to stay on top of three very complicated contracts—"

"Contracts I acquired for you," she interrupted somewhat smugly.

"So noted. But that's your end of the partnership done and mine beginning."

"I _know_ you're not implying that I'm resting on my laurels, Charles…"

"Of course not," he protested. "But whereas you are able to clear your schedule for today, I, sadly, am not." He waved his hand at the paperwork he was protecting valiantly from the playful breeze.

"Surely you can spare thirty minutes for a walk in the park," she wheedled. "It will do wonders for you to get outside after such a long winter."

He looked at her in exasperation as she moved through the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window and noticed that the skirt and sandals she was wearing made her legs look even longer and that her light cardigan was so light it was nearly shear in the sunlight. She was altogether a lovely picture and he was barely able to pull his eyes back down to the desk top before she turned and nearly caught him staring.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll check back later to see if you have any questions about those clauses." She smiled a bit sadly at him and opened the door to leave. As she did, the breeze rushed through the open window and sent every piece of paper except the one in his hands spinning through the air of his study.

"Bloody hell!" he roared, grabbing desperately for his contracts. Elsie groaned at the mess and shut the door quickly, coming back in to help gather them up.

"I'm so sorry, Charles," she said, kneeling on the carpet and gathering up sheets as fast as she could while he did the same. As he looked over to say something rather ungracious, he became captivated by the drape of her skirt over her behind and the way it rucked up as she stretched for the last bits of paper. This time she did catch him out when she looked over at him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, handing him the hopelessly muddled contracts. "I mean, other than the obvious"

"There is, actually," he said after a moment of looking thoughtfully at her face, fascinated by the way she bit her lip anxiously.

"What is it?"

"I seem to be trapped inside on a beautiful spring day when I should be walking with my lovely partner in the park," he said, clambering to his feet and tossing the handful of papers carelessly on the desk.

She gaped at him from her position on the floor, and he reached down with a smile to help her up. Taking the papers gently from her hand and depositing them on the desk with the rest, he swept his arm in invitation to the door.

"Shall we?"

"Certainly," she said, beginning to recover from her surprise and smiling mischievously. "But let me shut the window first, or we'll be back on the floor chasing them all over again."

"We might do that later, maybe after dinner," he replied. "For now, let's go outside."

"I do like what a little fresh air can do for you, Charles Carson."


	25. Chapter 25

Winter

Mrs. Carson kept her eyes on the clear tracks left in the new snow by her husband's shoes and felt like Mr. Doyle's esteemed detective. Although, if she was Mr. Holmes, she'd probably have figured out where he was going and what he was doing by now.

"Daft man," she muttered, concentrating on her footing and hoping the snow didn't get any deeper ahead. "Where does he think he's going on a day like today?"

He'd disappeared mysteriously after lunch, not telling her he was leaving. As she needed several things done in town, she wasn't best pleased about that. Mrs. Patmore said he'd bundled up and headed out without a word.

"But he was humming to beat the band," she'd mentioned with a wink.

Elsie had rolled her eyes at her friend, but after two hours had passed with no word or return, she was starting to get concerned. So, after making sure everything was in order for the rest of the afternoon, she determined to see if she could find him.

She looked ahead to see that his footprints were still going in this direction and gave thanks again for the fresh snow last night. Master George could have tracked him, clear as his trail was. And it was a trail, she was beginning to notice, that led down the "shortcut" to their cottage. They hadn't been taking it in the winter; the track might be longer, but it was usually more clear.

"So…he's gone home?" she asked herself. "Whatever for? And why not _say_ anything…?"

As she made her way through the drifts, concern began to give way to irritation.

"It's too cold for this," she muttered, pulling her coat a little tighter. There was smoke trailing up from the chimney and a cheerful light streamed from the window. The warmth beckoned to her, but didn't exactly thaw her temper.

"Charles?" she called as she hurried in and shut the door behind her. "Charles? Are you…?"

She drew in a quick breath as she saw him stretched out on the settee, and in a moment her anger vanished, replaced by horrid dropping sensation in her stomach. She froze by the door, her eyes wide over the top of her hand covering her mouth.

Then he let out a harsh snore, and the overwhelming feeling of relief made her legs wobble underneath her. She sat heavily in the armchair and stared at him as her heart resumed a normal rhythm.

Suddenly, she heaved an embroidered cushion at him, smacking him in the face with admirable accuracy. He bolted straight up, snorting and sputtering. Wiping his eyes, he saw his beautiful wife glaring at him from the armchair, hefting another cushion in her hand.

"What?! What in the…? Did you just _throw_ that at me?"

"I did," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes, "and it's no less than you deserve for giving me such a fright."

He blinked at her and then looked around in confusion.

"I must have dozed off…" His eyes grew wide with realization that it must be very late indeed if Elsie had come home to find him. "Erm…what time is it?"

"Time for you to explain yourself," she snapped, shaking the cushion at him menacingly. "Why in the _world_ were you home by yourself in the middle of the day? Not a word to anyone where you were going? And on the coldest day of the year…"

"Yes, that's why I lit the fire as soon as I got here," he began to explain, one wary eye on the cushion. "I had only intended to be here a short time, but the fire warmed everything up nicely. I suppose I must have laid down for just a moment…"

"Hmph. When I walked through that door and saw you lying on the settee, I thought…" her voice choked up a bit and she swallowed hard. "I don't know _what_ I thought, but it wasn't very pleasant."

Charles sat up and scooted down to the end of the settee closest to the armchair. He would have gotten up to go to her, but she still had the cushion clutched in one hand, and he didn't think the tears in her eyes would impeded her aim all that much.

"Please believe me, Elsie," he said pleadingly, "I never meant to worry you."

"Why did you sneak off and come home then?" she asked, still angry.

"Well…I had left something important and thought I'd have time to hurry home and get it—"

"And what could be so blessed important that couldn't wait until we came home tonight, so we only had to make _one_ trip out into this cold?"

He smiled sheepishly and pointed towards the table. Elsie looked over and saw a pile of fur and fabric.

"I've been keeping them for Christmas, but it got so cold, I thought I'd better give them to you now," he explained, as Elsie stood up and slowly went over to better see the fur hat, lined gloves and long, tartan wool scarf. "I couldn't find the scarf where I thought I'd left it, and had to look everywhere for it, so it took longer than I thought it would. Then I sat down on the settee…" He stopped as her eyes filled with tears again.

"They're lovely, Charles," she finally said, smiling into his worried eyes. "I only wish you hadn't thought you had to come home in the middle of the day to get them."

"How else could you wear them on the walk home tonight?" he replied with a smile, reaching out for her hand. She clasped it tightly and allowed herself to be pulled towards the settee. "I was going to surprise you with them before we left," he grumbled.

"Oh, I've had quite enough surprises today, thank you," she said as he pulled her into his lap. "And we've no time for this," she scolded as he ran his hand down her back.

He sighed heavily and stood her up. "I suppose you're right," he agreed. "We'd better be getting back."

A harsh gust of wind rattled around the cottage and they both looked dismally out of the window.

"Goodness! It's started snowing again. I can barely see the end of the walk," Elsie exclaimed.

Charles looked with dismay at the snow falling heavily and the drifts already piling up against the cottage. It was going to be difficult just to get the door open, much less trek back to the Abbey through the sudden storm…

"What?" Elsie asked when a smile crept across his face. She couldn't see anything amusing in their situation.

"I don't think we should risk it, Elsie," he replied. "It looks like we're snowed in."

"You can't be serious?" She looked at him in amazement, then took another look out of the window. His hands came around her and clasped over her stomach, pulling her back against him. "You are serious…"

"Quite serious," he mumbled against the back of her neck. "As much as I would like to see you in your new winter things, I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow."

She turned around in his arms and wrapped her arms around his broad back. "Poor dear. I'll have to make it up to you somehow."

"Can we leave the cushion out of it?" he asked.

"I can do more with it than just throw it, Charles..."


	26. Chapter 26

Diamond

The Carsons' breath blew smokey into the bitter night air. On nights such as this, walking home from the Abbey made both of them begin contemplating retirement longingly.

The crunch of their feet in the hard snow was the only sound as they made their way down the track. The walk wasn't far, and on a warm summer night, they would linger, talking and teasing each other, enjoying the warm cocooning night. But on a night like this, they hurried, arm in arm, tucked closely to each other's side.

As the track curved around and out of a copse of trees, the clear night sky suddenly appeared over them. And Charles stopped, throwing his head back and searching the spangled black expanse above them.

"Charles? Have you gone daft?" Elsie asked him, tugging him impatiently. He would pick a night when she could barely feel her toes to do some stargazing.

"Just a quick look, Elsie. I've not seen the stars so clearly in quite some time." He stole a quick glance at her red cheeks and impatient eyes.

She humored him, not without an irritated huff, and blew on her hands as she watched his sharp eyes criss cross the heavens, looking for who knew what. Suddenly, he paused and pointed.

"There," he said enthusiastically. "Do you see those four stars? The diamond?"

She looked in the direction his finger pointed, following it from the bright star at the apex to the others. "Yes," she said through chattering teeth. "What of it?"

"My father liked those stars. He'd point them out to me when I was a boy, and I'd be out with him at the stables at night."

As he spoke, he gathered her closer to him, pulling her against his body to help warm her. She looked down from the stars and wrapped her arms around him, gratefully burying her head in his chest.

"I asked what they were called, and he didn't know what anyone _else_ called them, but he called them my mother's name. He always said, he'd never been able to give my mother the diamonds she deserved, so she'd have to settle for the one up in the sky."

Elsie chuckled and hugged him closer. "And did she?"

"She always said diamonds were foolish for a woman who had to actually use her hands to work, so she preferred the one in the sky."

"I think I'd have liked your mother," Elsie said, smiling in approval. A shiver ran through her.

"Well, enough of this," Charles said firmly. "Time to get home before we freeze to the ground."

They set off briskly again. As their cottage came into view, Elsie leaned her head closer to Charles' shoulder.

"Thank you for showing me your mother's stars, Charles."

"Oh, they're your stars now," he said with a chuckle. "I've called them 'Elsie' for over a decade, you know."

"I didn't, but I'm glad to know that now."

In spite of the cold, they lingered for a moment on the step of the cottage, taking one last look up at the brilliant night sky. When Charles found the stars in her eyes too much to resist, they hurried inside to warm their chilly cottage and bed.

**A/N- If you're interested, the stars Charles points out to Elsie are the constellation Auriga the Charioteer, in the NW quadrant. Capella, the brightest star in the grouping is a golden color and is the sixth brightest star in our sky. It's quite visible in the Yorkshire countryside in February, and really does make a lovely diamond in the sky.**


	27. Chapter 27

Letters Promise a Simple Future

_My dear Elsie,_

_ I find it wonderfully ironic that, although I am a man who has never been comfortable with change, tomorrow we will go together into a future I would not have dared imagine a year ago. Perhaps it is the __'together' part of it that makes me anticipate it with so much hope and desire._

_ My plans to die in harness at Downton Abbey and haunt its halls forever have been completely scotched, and I couldn__'t be happier. I will be exchanging the complexities of grandeur and tradition for unknown simplicity. But the thought of simply waking by your side, eating when we please and with no one to please but ourselves, has me as eager and anxious as I was the first time I donned the butler's livery._

_ Tomorrow, I take that livery off and replace it with a simple suit - appropriate for a most special occasion, of course. Tomorrow, I become simply, Charles Carson, husband of Elsie Carson, master of a humble cottage, and happiest man in the world._

_ I cannot promise you style and show, Elsie. But I can promise you that you, and your sister, will lack for nothing. So long as I draw breath, you will have my heart and all that comes with it. You have always kept the key to it._

_ The hour grows late, and I should draw this letter to a close. I could never say everything I long to say to you through the limited means of mere words in any case. If you do not suddenly come to your senses before 10 in the morning, I will see you at the front of the church, and we will begin our simple, wonderful future together._

_My love always,_

_Charles_

_Dearest Charles,_

_ If you continue to claim that you are solely a pragmatic, practical man without a romantic bone in your body, I will call you the hopeless liar that you are. To leave such a letter for me under the door to my room on this, the last night I shall ever stay in it, ever be alone__…well, it completely contradicts those claims. And I'll thank you to remember that, for I'll never, ever forget it._

_ Charles, I can imagine nothing more wonderful than the simple future you describe so well. My dear, I could never lack for anything so long as you are with me. You tell me that I am the keeper of the keys to your heart, and the trust that you have in me brings tears of joy to my eyes. Whether you knew it or not, my heart has been yours for longer than I care to remember. I knew I could always trust you with it, and it is an indescribable joy to have been proven right._

_ As I have no intention of, as you put it __'coming to my senses' before 10 tomorrow, I shall most certainly see you at the front of the church. There I'll place my hand in yours, where it belongs, and we'll trade everything we've known for so long for something simpler, but more magnificent than anything that has ever transpired in these halls and drawing rooms._

_ Tomorrow, I will be Mrs. Elsie Carson. But tonight, I will break my final trust as Mrs. Hughes and use my keys to breech that barrier between our rooms so that I may slide this under your door for you to find tomorrow. I fully expect to be lectured for such an indiscretion, and I look forward to that immensely._

_All my love,_

_Elsie_

**A/N- This has been a wonderful experience writing for this ship. Thank you to everyone who has read them and been so encouraging!**


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